


54

by maschh



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maschh/pseuds/maschh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo scores fifty-four goals in the 2012-13 league. He's not quite as humble when he's drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	54

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in July 2012, when Cesc Fabregas was part of an extremely successful Barcelona squad, and Messi was constantly breaking records. I envisioned a 2013 Champions League final of Barcelona against Manchester United that went into extra time. Unfortunately, this did not come to pass, and I will never predict in another fic again.

**May 2013.**

1-1 in extra time and the crowd is on its feet. All of Camp Nou is with them as Pedro leafs a pass up the flank to Villa. Villa controls it with ease – one, two, flick -- and it’s coming now, they can all feel it, the fans and the players, the air is electric and theirs, and how can United even feel they have a chance in this moment, they might as well walk off the pitch because it’s all happening, it’s all going to happen – and all of a sudden the ball is up in the air, a deceptively simple cross, a perfect arc, and there is Messi, there is their messiah, making contact with the ball just as Rio Ferdinand is mistiming his jump – and there’s only one place it’s going to go, only one, De Gea flails like a rag doll but –

The sound is deafening. As if every commentator in the world is screaming “GOOOOOOOOOL!” so that it echoes through the Camp Nou, ringing the crowd’s ears. But on the pitch, not one of them can hear it. All they hear is the wind rushing past their ears as they run toward him, hardly even surprised.

They tackle him to the ground and there’s muffled sounds, panting, cries of pain, certainly, but who fucking cares? because the Champions League is back where it belongs. Because England has finally gone back to bed and because they have Lionel Messi.

When they finally come up for air, it doesn’t even seem like they should be playing another seven minutes. Pique runs his hands through Cesc’s hair, jogs back to his position. Villa cracks his neck, left to right. Puyol begins shouting again. But they know none of it matters. Tito would say, _Keep moving forward! Score another goal! Don’t get complacent,_ cabrones! But really, from now on it’s a game of keep-away, and that part of Guardiola’s legacy is not gone, may never be gone: they know how to keep the ball.

It’s the shortest keep-away session of Cesc’s life. Before he knows it the ref is blowing the whistle. Against all odds, he feels his legs propel him full speed toward the growing crowd of Barcelona players. He collapses in a heap beside God-knows-who, and it’s only minutes later that he realizes the reason his face hurts is from smiling.

“Leo, Leo, Leo! Leo! Leo!” is all that can be heard from the locker room. It’s to the tune of _Olé._

~~~

After the third bar, Pique decides he’s had enough and offers to bring people round to his. Plenty of them turn him down (because they’re afraid he’ll be driving), but a few others immediately take him up on it (because they’re afraid he’ll be driving).

“’Ey, Geri, would you give me those?” Cesc begs, trying to grab his keys.

“Cescki,” Pique tuts disapprovingly, keeping them out of his reach. He’s well on his way to smashed.

“Victor, would you – ” Cesc tries helplessly.

“Geri,” Victor tries. “You’re in no state to drive.”

“It’s my car, isn’t it?” Pique grins. He’s not even belligerent when his words are.

“Geri.” Victor is probably the least drunk, although Leo reckons he should be the most. Keeper and all that. Stressful. He makes for the keys, but, with surprising dexterity, Pique pulls them out of his reach yet again.

However, out of Victor and Cesc’s reach is also well within Puyi’s reach. The captain snatches the keys out of his friend’s hand without hesitation.

“Thank you, Puyi,” Victor sighs.

“Oh!” Pique cries, turning around, confused and alarmed at this betrayal. “Puyi!”

Puyi just shakes his head and tells him to hurry up if he wants shotgun. Pique scoffs but adheres, nabbing the front seat like a child.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Victor asks he gets in the back.

“Yep,” Puyi replies, turning the key in the ignition as Cesc and Leo scramble in. “I know where Geri lives.”

“Yeah you do,” Pique says for no reason at all, jamming his oversized legs onto the dashboard and humming a tune to himself as the engine makes itself known.

 _“Felicitaciones a todos!”_ Leo cries suddenly from the back.

~~~

At Pique’s, Cesc almost wants to laugh at the fact that he’d planned on counting his drinks tonight. All he knows at this point is that he’s well past what he’d wanted to be at, but everything is pretty hilarious. Pique is two or three drinks past him, and Leo – who knows. Puyi and Victor, on the other hand, have somehow disappeared.

“Hey, where’d the others go?” Cesc asks aloud. He’s probably interrupting Pique, but he doesn’t care.

“Hmm? Oh, I – they left,” Pique replies, but it’s clear he also just came to this conclusion. “Leo’s still here, though, I think. Leo?”

“Yeah?” Leo emerges from the kitchen, mouth full of something Pique probably didn’t want anyway.

“Leo, come here,” Pique coos, patting his lap. “Leeeeoooooo,” he sings, thrilled, as his friend wanders over. Leo plops onto his lap, grinning. “Fucking hell, Leo,” Pique sighs in amazement. “Fucking hell.”

“Fifty-four,” Cesc murmurs from the other couch, and Pique looks up as if he just remembered he was there.

“Fifty-four,” Leo agrees, stupid grin growing even bigger.

“Fifty-four? Unbelievable,” Pique leans back against the coach, eyes still on Leo. “If I’d been a striker, I’d have gotten more.”

Leo laughs, properly laughs, shoulders shaking and chest quaking, and _God,_ it’s been a long time since they’ve seen him laugh like that. Even in their state, they know that. It’s gorgeous. Leo sighs and leans back into Pique’s chest. The bigger man gulps a little because Leo’s never that forward, if that even counts as forward, really, but Leo doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re incredible, you are,” Pique mumbles.

Leo nods into his chest. “I am, aren’t I?”

Pique nudges him up, stares him in the face. It’s almost too close. “You are. You hear that, Cesc? He knows it. He finally fucking knows it.” He can’t help but grin, pulling Leo close again.

“Three Pichichi trophies,” Cesc agrees, voice fading away a little, eyes sliding shut.

“Three,” Pique echoes to Leo.

“Did you see my tackle on Carrick today?”

“On the big man? Top class. And your brace…I don’t know how you do it.” It’s almost strange how absent the note of jealousy is in his voice – just utter adoration.

“I got up above Ferdinand!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Pique agrees tirelessly.

“I love it,” Leo blurts. “I – I don’t know how to explain it. I love – I love being the best and I love being the best with you guys and – I never say it cause I never say anything but – ” Pique stops him with a kiss. Leo freezes. Pique tries to open his mouth and Leo consents, belatedly, pulling him in closer, the warmth of his mouth overwhelming. Leo runs his hands over the short hairs on Pique’s neck and the bigger man almost purrs. Leo chuckles softly.

They separate slowly, keeping their heads together, forehead to forehead, both still smiling. “I love you,” Leo says simply, and Pique understands. Understands that’s all he wanted to say from the beginning, that’s all he couldn’t put into words, that he doesn’t mean in the way that he tells it to Antonella or the way that he’ll say it to Shakira, but more and less because they are part of each other, their histories intertwined more deeply and completely than either of them would like to explain, honestly. It’s not just “I love you,” it’s “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Pique breaks the eye contact first, catches a glimpse of something from where they left Cesc. He hasn’t moved an inch, but his eyes are open. He’s staring.

“Let him look,” Leo murmurs, without giving him a glance. He pulls Pique in again.

“I – I need – God, you’re so perfect,” Pique breathes in between kisses, and this is strange, because it’s not something he usually does, he doesn’t usually need, he doesn’t usually want to make the person feel as good as he wants to make Leo feel right now. He wants to kiss his eyelids and his toes and his belly and how is this possible that this is hero worship because he’s known the kid since he was born, practically. Or close enough.

But he doesn’t think all that in so many words. What’s flashing through his mind at the moment is more like _How have we not done this before? How have we not done this before? How have we not done this before?_

A single groan (that Pique knows so well) comes from Cesc’s direction, but they ignore it. Leo is moving down his neck now, kiss after kiss onto the stubble. Pique shuts his eyes, lets his head fall back, because it’s been so long since he got off this much from this little.

Leo’s definitely noticed, too, noticed the noises he’s making and the growing bulge in his pants. He grins wolfishly and makes for the zipper, groping blindly while still pressing kisses to his neck, each time lower. Pique helps him out, undoes the zipper and then his trousers easily (he’s done this so many times; the thought flickers harmlessly across Leo’s mind), and Leo does the honors of his briefs, slides them down to his knees and lowers his head.

Pique gasps involuntarily as his mouth closes around the head, as the heat envelops the tip, his hips buck forward and Leo calmly presses them back into place. He sinks lower, bobbing his head and sucking him down like this is all he’s ever wanted.

“God, Leo,” Pique breathes, fisting the fabric of the couch.

His warm fingers creep toward Pique’s balls, and the Catalan grips his shoulder, as if for support. He can’t take it, his stomach convulses, he’s about to come already, he’s so easy –

“Wait.”

It’s Cesc.

Leo slowly pulls out, an almost invisible string of spit connecting his mouth and Pique’s cock for a couple of seconds. He looks back at Cesc, who has his cock out unashamedly and has been stroking it. When he speaks, his voice is as ragged as Pique’s.

“You should fuck him.”

“I – ” Pique starts to say.

“No,” Cesc admonishes. “ _You_ should fuck him.” His eyes are steely and they both know that, at this point, there’s no point in arguing with him.

But when Pique looks at Leo again, there’s an unmistakable glint in his eye. And he realizes Leo wouldn’t have wanted to argue with Cesc.

“Where do you want us?” Leo asks.

Cesc smirks. “Over that desk.”

Leo’s eyebrows fly up and the grin can’t be missed. He gives Pique a look and helps him up from the couch. They stand there awkwardly for a second until Pique realizes he has to move first. He pads over to the desk and waits. Leo wanders over, hard but nowhere near as desperate as Pique, who is practically panting with anticipation.

“Lube?” Leo asks Pique.

Pique points to a nearby drawer. Leo chuckles to himself but gets it out. “Spread your legs,” he chides, enjoying it all a bit too much. Pique obliges.

The first finger is cold, and Pique visibly winces, grinds, makes fists against the desk but stays stoically silent. Cesc grins from the other couch, getting full face views of both of them. Without waiting, without saying a word, Leo sticks the second in, gives him a few thrusts, scissors.

“You’re fucking tight,” Leo murmurs, running his other hand up Pique’s thigh. The defender shudders, his breathing getting louder, more forced.

“I’m ready,” Pique whines, the first thing he’s said in a while. “Please.”

Finally, Leo obliges. He enters Pique slowly, making the other man hiss in pain. He takes Pique’s cock in his hand, and pumps, making Pique brace himself against the desk. Leo thrusts into him, forcing himself still deeper. “Ah, fuck, Leo, please,” Pique cries, his poor neglected cock smeared with pre-cum and rubbing against Leo’s fingers. Leo responds by pushing him down against the desk with his other hand, putting him at a 90 degree angle. His cheek is flat against the wood. Leo’s hand slides up to his hair, gripping it just tight enough, holding him in place.

“Fuck, Geri,” Leo cries, his eyes squeezed tight.

“Hnnng.” Cesc is pumping faster than ever, eyes still trained on them. “Fuck,” he gasps, as he comes all over his hand.

Leo finally makes eye contact with him. Cesc is sticky and lovely and it’s enough to send Leo over the edge. “Fucking – hell – Geri – ” he says as he comes inside of Pique, before slumping against him into the desk.

Pique comes right after him, spurting everywhere. They fall slack against each other, hardly even on their feet anymore.

Leo is the first to recover. Regaining his footing, he turns Pique around so they’re chest to chest, Pique smiling down at him. “You fucking asshole,” Pique chuckles. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

“Please do something,” Leo says, laughing.

“Ey!” Cesc cries from the couch. “Forgotten me, have you?”

Leo scampers over to him, sits on his lap like he did before to Pique. “How could I forget you, Francesc? Your assist today? That pert little ass? Impossible.”

“I love him like this,” Cesc chuckles, presumably to Pique, but his eyes are on Leo.

“Impossible,” Pique agrees, wandering over to join them. He grabs Cesc’s earlobe, and the younger man looks up at him, beaming. “Absolutely impossible, Cescito.” None of them can stop grinning.

Leo presses a kiss onto Cesc’s lips, his other hand around his waist. Then he murmurs in his ear, “Next time, you can be over the desk.”


End file.
